Rose Waltz
by Paradoqz
Summary: Rose Tattoo goes clubbing, and finds a most appropriate partner


Disclaimers: None of the characters here belong to me. Nor am I making any profit from this. Most of the recognizable names   
belong to Wildstorm, others to Marvel. If you are easily offended, be warned that there is some cussing in here. Not a lot, but   
hey... 

Feedback and flames are welcome.   


Rose Waltz   
*************   


"Hiya, toots." 

Oh, please. That's the best they come up with, these days? Hmm... 

"Lonely, are ya?" 

I should kill him. 

"Not much of a talker, eh? Well, that's all right. Leaves more time for... other stuff. If ya catch my drift." 

I _will_ kill him. 

"So what's a lady like you doing in a place like this?" 

Well, hell. If anything he's persistent. 

"Outta the way, chump." 

"Hey!" 

Thud. 

Crash. 

I feel my mouth quirk a little, "Hello, Victor. My thanks." High used to tell me that I had a beautiful voice. Throaty and warm,   
like a promise of rest for a weary traveler. 

Hah. 

"Bullshit. I just wanted the stool." 

Fair enough. I'm not really in the mood for talking, myself. Don't actually know what am I doing here. A mistake. They all   
thought me dead. An advantage. I just gave it away... For what? Hmm... The look on Fahrenheit's face when she came in   
was... amusing. Hm... They thought... they really thought Hawksmoor killed me. Haha. 

Ah, there is Winter. Oh, what's that? That's riiiight. It's moi. Surprise, surprise. 

What a waste. He's one of US. One of the precious few. Given the rarest of gifts by that bitch of a Fate. And he hates himself   
for it. What a fucking waste. He can Dance. I've seen him in action. He's good. But so... ugly. Every movement is calculated   
and thought out. Economy and force. Pheh. He could have been great, but he made himself a mechanic not an artiste. 

What a waste. 

Wonder if this is what will cause his undoing... 

They can never understand. None of them. Little people. I despise little people. I tried once, tried to tell them of the Gift of   
Final Sleep. Useless. They could never wrap their little minds around it. Shackled by the self-imposed principles and mores that   
make no sense. 

Little people. 

Forever wondering why I wouldn't talk to you... Why? Because you are blind. Blind and deaf. So few among you who can see.   
Who can appreciate the wonder of the Kali Dance. 

High was... different. He listened. He saw. He didn't agree and perhaps he didn't even understand but he saw. 

I wonder what went through his mind as he rammed the Watch... I never was sure that the Dance got to him. Yes... he was   
rare. A giant among sheep. 

Bendix. Another mistake, mayhaps. I talked to him. He seemed strong enough to listen... Or maybe I simply convinced myself   
of that. 

Does Death get lonely, I wonder... 

I spoke to him. I told him of the Dance. He never did see it fully and yet it touched him. Fueled the spark of madness. Twisted   
him. 

Little people. Don't dance the Dance if you are not ready to hear the music. 

Ah. The infamous Stormwatch Black. So how are you feeling these days, Jack? Do you wake up screaming? Or do you   
secretly replay that moment, relishing the second you saw the light go out of my eyes? You Danced with Death, boy. Noone   
goes away unchanged. 

Right, Victor? I wonder... are you of the little people? I hope not. I think not. 

You are not High. Not Bendix. But you do not need to be told, do not need to be shown. You _know _ . You know the   
beauty, the terrible magnificence, the draw. 

My, I'm morose today. Could I be growing old? Impossible. 

There they go. Moving to the music. Trying to create some beauty to lighten their short, inconsequential lives. I pity them. To   
live and never know the Dance, never hear the Song. Or even worse to know it... and push it away. Be afraid to give in. 

Why have I come here today? Why? 

I want something. Something different. 

I wish I could show them. 

I want to tell them of the beauty. 

I want to show them the glory. 

I want... Yes! 

"I want to dance." 

*** 

I am Victor Creed. The Sabretooth. The killer. 

I've felt the bones of hundreds break under my hand. I've hunted down a grisly bear just to see his throat ripped out and drink   
his blood. 

I've burned my name through Georgia with Sherman and across France with Patton. Not for a cause. Just because I could. 

I'm Victor Creed. The killer. 

And he threw me away... 

He took my bones and threw me away. 

The Eternal Lord. The Strong. Fucking bastard. 

What do you know of strength, Nur? 

Have you ever crossed the Northern Territories in winter? Have you ever hunted a lion in the jungle with just your hands for a   
weapon? Heard him creeping up on you but forced yourself to stillness? Watched him lunge at you and eventually die in your   
hands like a broken toy? 

I'm Sabretooth. The name is no accident. A throwback. I don't need the guns or lasers. I am my weapon. 

The runt knows. 

He knows of the beast inside. Calling out to him. To try himself against... anything. 

He tamed it. Chained it. Starved it and put it behind walls. 

Pathetic. 

It will be free one day. Like mine. And then... Oh, then! We'll see who is the best. 

I'm Victor Creed. I'm the Sabretooth. I'm a killer. 

The whole world is after me. 

Just how I like it. 

You are nothing. Just an ancient relic. 

This is my world. 

My time. 

I'm tired but I'm getting better. 

And I'm coming for you, Nur. 

I'm coming for my bones. 

*** 

I haven't even touched him yet and he already looks at me with those yellow, unblinking eyes. 

Magnificent. 

Like a wild beast. A predator let loose. 

He is no poet. But he knows the dance. 

*** 

Jack Hawksmoor slammed his glass down, denting the hard surface of the table slightly. "It's that.. that...Tattoo bitch! I'll tear   
her fucking heart out through her throat!" 

Following the two figures as they whirled gracefully on a suddenly empty floor, Jenny Sparks noticed with some detachment his   
tightly clenched teeth and the white knuckles. 

Creed looks almost incongruous in the old jeans and a flannel shirt next to Rose, in her usual leather garb. Two killers. Two   
paragons of Death. Moving with an unerring grace to the hauntingly beautiful melody of Brahms' Concerto. Even if not for the   
unspoken truce of the Clark's, she'd not interrupt this. 

When the glimpse of the abyss is offered, you either stay and look or turn and run. 

You do not fight the Night. 

"...Leave 'em be, Jack. Let them dance. Just let them dance..." 

*** 

I see you Jackie-boy. Touchy aren't you? Wondering how am I still alive? Don't worry. You'll know. You'll know soon. 

Just ask you your boss lady. You guessed it, didn't you, Jen? You know, deep down you know. Don't you... sis? 

There you stand. Heroes. Protectors. Do you even see it? Can't you feel it the shadow above you all? Toshiro, Lauren, Nigel,   
Nikolas... The Dark is coming for you. 

Soon you'll dance the Dance. Soon... 

*** 

Hah. This feels... right. I haven't danced in ages. 

All eyes on us. Me and her. All waiting for me to slip up. Looking for weakness. 

All world against me. Just how I like it. 

I'll have a drink. 

And then let 'em come. 

I'll kill 'em all.   


*** 

  
I'm that which shall endure. I'm the omega. The last song you hear before walking the dark path. You thought you killed me.   
You thought you could kill the Death. Fools. This is my time. I've been here for eons. And now... now I take my due. This is   
my century. The century that belongs to Death. 

Death is simply the last step in the dance of Time. The step that is the Dance all in itself. 

Won't you dance with me? 


End file.
